


Stand Up

by Fics4you



Series: Fics Advent Calendar 2017 [10]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 02:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fics4you/pseuds/Fics4you
Summary: Prompt: I have a prompt and it’s weird but whatever Prompt: person 1 is dating reader and they’re rude to reader and person 2 stands up for reader and ends up winning them over… sorry if it’s weird





	Stand Up

ometimes it’s easier to take it in silence as opposed to kicking up a fuss. You used to be certain that these moods weren’t personal, that you were just the unfortunate girl caught in the path of a bad day - but eventually that changed.

He’d seek you out. Belittling remarks would lash against your skin until you believed him. Until you agreed that you were lucky to have someone like him with all of your faults, believed that you, with all your failings, were his only lifeline.

You can’t count the amount of times you’d stood on the front steps, broken and guilty as he pleaded for you to stay. He’d always drag you back, and at first it was by grovelling into your shoes and screaming that he loved you.

But soon enough the method stopped working, and his efforts grew steadily worse.

And he started to blame you.

Blame you for the good days and the terrible days; blame you for his worthlessness and pain.

He threatened to kill himself when you last stood on that doorstep, suitcase in hand.

That’d been a month ago, an agonisingly long, difficult month that saw you crying into dinner plates and pillows. That saw you sinking further into your seat whenever he berated the television or one of your comments. Forced into hiding on the bathroom floor as he cheered with his drunkard friends; picking holes in your homemaking, your sex life, your lack of control.

But what are you to do?

No one talks about the fear, the helplessness – all you hear are people asking the question,  _‘if it’s that bad, why don’t you leave?’_

His self loathing is contagious, and as you sit in the dimly lit, commercial coffee shop you feel it burrowing inside. You bury your discomfort in cold coffee, milk catching on bile as you try to swallow yet another brutal day.

You hear his fingers snapping by your ear, dragging your attention from the lipstick stain lining the rim of the cup.  

With a heavy sigh he falls back in his seat, scowling as though you are something stuck on the underside of his shoe. “I’m telling you about my day, and you can’t even fucking listen to me right.”

You try not to flinch, back pressed painfully against the seat as you attempt to disappear behind it. “I am listening,” you insist, “I-I’m just not feeling well. I think the milk’s off.”

He pays little mind, powering through like a bulldozer. “Why do you always make it about you? Why can’t you make an effort for once in your life.”

This time you wince, eye twitching with the stress of the situation. You rub it and force a yawn, hoping to mask the hurt.

“Oh, am I boring you?”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry, honey, the coffee really isn’t sitting well. I’m just going to run to the bathroom, and then we’ll talk about you?”

“Yeah, you better not be fucking pregnant or something.”

“Why would you think I’m pregnant?” Your indignant, immediately regretting your question.

He shrugs, “because you’re getting fat.”

“I’m not pregnant,” you mumble to your feet, peeling out of your chair, hands shaking.

“Good, because coat hangers don’t have a good success rate. At least we can fix fat.”

You’re rushing away with a stifled squeak, fear trembling through your whole body. In your haste you don’t notice the man with wild curls coming towards you until you collide. He apologises profusely with a shake of your hand and flash of kind, blue eyes, darting away as quickly as he’d appeared. You watch him return to his seat in the corner of the shop, opening up his laptop before you slip behind the door and unfurl the note he’d jammed into your fist.

Stained with coffee and frantic scribbles, the words printed across the napkin kick start your heart, pulse racing.

 _‘I overheard your conversation._  
If you need help, tap twice on the table.   
Jon.’

You splash water on your face, attempting to breathe through the panic clogging your throat. You want desperately to crawl into a stall and cry, to shut away the world and forget you exist. Instead you rehearse your smile, smoothing the tremors and cracks before facing the door.

Upon exit you see the man who’d passed you the napkin is gone, your boyfriend glaring at your reappearance. You sit back down, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

“You took your sweet time.”

You pull out the practised smile. “I’m sorry, I–”

“Yeah, save it.” He waves away your words with a forceful swipe before slapping him hand on the table. You jump in shock, body running cold. “It’s always the same with you. This is why no one else wants you, you know.”

And then your tapping the table, fingers rapping the wood as you attempt to seem nonchalant. Irritated, he snatches your hand away, gripping it tightly and snarling. “Fucking stop making so much damn noise, you fucking whor–”

“Excuse me.”

You glance up, eyes wide with fear and close to tears. Jon doesn’t smile, not looking at you as he glowers at your boyfriend. In a quick motion he’s unhinged the grip, taking your hand reassuringly in his own. “You can’t treat someone like that.”

You boyfriend stands, visibly shaking in annoyance. “That’s my girlfriend, buddy. She’s fine.”

Finally Jon turns to you, eyes kind and concerned. “Are you fine?”

Despite your better judgement and the anger rolling over you in waves, you shake your head.

“You little shit, Y/N, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

With a deep, rattling sigh and no confidence at all you leave your seat, still holding Jon’s hand. “Leaving you.”

“You can’t leave me, you’re the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Find another damn reason. I’m done.”

He moves to grab you, but Jon turns his back and blocks the rage. With a smile he hands you the cold coffee mug before stepping out the way of your throw. With a smash and clatter your ex is drenched, stumbling back and tripping to the floor.

“You wanna go to the arcade or something?” Jon asks, swinging your hands together.

Casting one glance back to your ex you see his face turn red, vein popping across his forehead. “I’ve got some locks to change first, but then I’m all for it.”


End file.
